


Sabaton

by savedby



Series: Bold in Gold [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Las Vegas Golden Knights, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 12:08:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10830978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savedby/pseuds/savedby
Summary: There are a few things that Vadim expects to see when he lands in Las Vegas, but his new teammate holding up a big sign with his name on it is not one of them.





	Sabaton

**Author's Note:**

> Me: hey wouldn't it be funny if I wrote Golden Knights fic now that there's two of them?  
> Me, a few hours later, googling Vadim Shipachyov's home town: I have made a grave mistake

 

 

 

There’re a few things Vadim expects to see when he lands in Las Vegas. His new teammate holding up a big sign with his name on it, decorated with footballs and pucks and glitter, isn’t one of them.

 

At least some of it is staged, probably, judging by the number of cameras, but Reid Duke’s grin is genuine and he goes for a hug instead of a handshake, so Vadim supposes he’ll forgive him for the awful Russian he tries to greet him with.

 

“I did all the glitter,” Reid tells him proudly, and Vadim dutifully admires it, somewhat reminded of having to puzzle through pictures his daughters brought home from kindergarten. 

 

“Thanks,” he says, and Reid beams.

 

Reid is a chatterbox, but he shuts up when Vadim talks, absorbing his every word with huge, excited eyes. Vadim stumbles over his English, but Reid doesn’t seem to mind. He looks like the deer that used to mull in the grass behind Vadim’s childhood home, and it makes him look even younger than he is.

 

Reid’s been at the hotel that the Knights have them set up in for a couple of days already and he seems happy enough to guide Vadim to his assigned room, though his face drops a little when he sees that Vadim’s got a giant hot tub and a couple of more rooms than he does.

 

“Why do you even need a hot tub?” he mutters, fiddling with the buttons and shrieking when the hot tub emits a loud noise and starts spewing water from the ceiling.

 

Vadim shrugs. “Veteran bones,” he says, pointing at himself.

 

Reid orders them both room service, which ends up being a burger with a side of fries. Vadim is grateful enough for not having to struggle with English when he’s tired that he agrees to pose for a picture with the food, so Reid can put it on instagram. He spends so long picking out the right filter that Vadim steals half of his fries.

 

Vadim should probably send him away, because he’s tired and jet lag is kicking his ass, but it’s kind of pleasant to listen to Reid chatter instead of turning on the television or some other white noise. He lays down on the bed and his eyes drift shut on their own accord at Reid’s play by play account of every goal he’s scored the past season.

 

Vadim wakes up a few hours later, and all the lights in the room have been turned off, the curtains drawn and the table cleared. Reid’s covered him with a blanket, tucking him in properly, and Vadim laughs a little to himself as he loosens the blanket and falls back to sleep.

 

 

*

 

 

He doesn’t quite know what to do with Reid’s sign, so he props it up in the little kitchenette in the hotel room. Reid practically glows every time he sees it, even when the glitter starts falling off and Vadim keeps finding specks of it floating in his morning tea.

 

Reid convinces him to fill the hot tub at some point. It’s big enough for a few people, but there’s something in the way Reid carefully chooses the farthest corner of it that sparks Vadim’s notice. He offers to scrub Reid’s back and the red hot blush on Reid’s face isn’t confirmation, but it’s telling anyway.

 

Vadim sinks under the hot water to hide his grin, and Reid stutters through the next few sentences, distracted.

 

 

*

 

 

The first time they kick around a football is a big production. 

 

It’s hardly a pre-game ritual when they aren’t playing a game, but their social media department is very devoted to the joke, so he and Reid obediently show up at the newly built practice rink to several cameras and a PR lady threatening them with make-up.

 

“You know, we don’t play soccer before games in Russia,” he tells Reid as the media people adjust everything.

 

“What?” Reid frowns. “What do you do instead?”

 

“Ball exercise,” Vadim says blithely, tamping down on a grin. “You put your ball in front of you and then you move your hips…”

 

Vadim knows he’s sometimes really hard to read, but Reid is also too trusting, so he gets through three thrusts before Reid realizes he’s essentially humping a football on camera.

 

“You’re fucking with me,” Reid says, frowning, and Vadim finally allows himself to laugh.

 

Their no-game pre-game ritual is going to be live streamed, which Vadim thinks is probably not a very good idea, especially since they’re not allowed to swear on camera.

 

It actually goes mostly alright, Reid delivers his lines and Vadim dutifully passes the ball back to him. They go back and forth for a little while, and it’s about time to end the whole thing, when Vadim hits the ball a little bit too hard and it goes sailing up over Reid’s head and into the rafters.

 

Dead silence.

 

“Oh, fuck,” Reid says, as the PR lady gestures frantically for them to cut off the stream. “What now?”

 

“Leave it,” Vadim shrugs, “for luck.”

 

“I guess we’ll need that,” Reid says thoughtfully. It becomes the unofficial catchphrase of the season.

 

 

*

 

 

Vadim is in his stall, going through the motions before the first official game of the season, when he feels his phone vibrate, stuck somewhere under his ass. The locker room is considerably fuller now, not exactly a team yet, but something close enough, maybe.

 

No one is paying much attention to him, caught up in their own preparation or in tamping down on their nerves. He pulls the phone out.

 

‘Good luck!’ Reid’s texted him, and it makes Vadim smile. Reid is starting the season with the Chicago Wolves, waiting for his shot in the NHL. The two of them text, often. 

 

There’ve been some tries to get the football out of the rafters, but no one has managed it so far. 

 

Vadim gets up, takes a picture of his stall, of the 87 jersey hanging in it and underneath it, tucked securely against the wood, a big sign with his name on it, decorated with footballs and pucks, and a severely diminished amount of glitter.

 

‘See you soon.’

  
  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> To my knowledge this is the first Golden Knights fic on ao3? To many more, I guess.  
> Much thanks to Dell for all the hand holding and betaing this, and to Brenna, who said it was 'totally a good idea' to write this. 
> 
> @ Las Vegas, sign more players quick so I can write more incredibly niche ships, thanks
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://muzzmurray.tumblr.com/)


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